[The threat makes him still, but not for the reason Silco thinks - Vergilius slips his mouth off, aiming a levelly unimpressed look at the man. He leans forward, just a bit-]
[Only to sink his teeth into the man's groin, like a warning bite. He sucks on the skin, a blossoming red coming from his action before he returns to his previous position.]
As if I was going to stop. [And now, a lick alongside the side of his shaft, nibbling around its head.] Like trying to rob a bank of your own money. How very stupid. Unless you want me to stop? Out of spite?
[And he sucks on it once more, his hands releasing for a moment before sliding up to hold the man's pelvis taut.]
[ If it wouldn't have given it away — how much he did love this — he would have writhed and hissed and whined at the chill air on him, cooling spit. His back arched, he sucks and bites him and the whine comes ripped out of his throat, back arched and fingers tight into the sheets. If he were stronger, they would rip.
His head pressed to the bed, that burning pit of an eye rolled up to the back of his head. ]
No —
[ He hissed out, pain blossoms like an old welcome friend, and he twitches, twists, Vergilius keeps going, keeps talking and he swallowed back a frustrated groan as he took him back in. He fights against his hands, trying to thrust deeper into him and getting nowhere, but his legs, they're free enough that he squirms with them before he lifted one to hook one around his shoulders and neck, as if it could keep him there.
Saying clearly what Silco wasn't, that it was that good. ]
[The slender leg presses over his shoulders. As if that could stop him from doing anything. His cold red eyes have a hint of something coming close to mirth. He enjoys this. It must be like what a cat feels when it sees a mouse in a trap.]
[He can feel the minute tension of the muscles as Silco tries vainly to push his hips upward. Perhaps its time to give him a reprieve. He lets go, his hands carressing over his slender abdomen as he slips off wetly. A lick of his lips, and he's going back, but with only the head entering past his lips.]
[He won't move down. He's giving a chance for Silco to fuck it upwards to enjoy himself. If just a little bit.]
[ Even though he releases his hips, Vergilius truly does still have all of the control here. Silco may have wrapped a leg around his shoulders, an awkward twist of long, thin limbs, and he arched to put his foot on the sheets, as if it would give him enough leverage to fight him — he doesn't even have to fight him, he can just push down again anytime he wants.
But with the newfound freedom he does surge up, following his mouth, chasing heat and sensation and thrusting up and into him. He'd very nearly chased him up and away, but as soon as he's given freedom, he takes it. Irregular, uncontrolled thrusts up and into him, his heel pressed tight against his back to try and hold him down (ineffectively) and his hips pushing up.
It's all liquid heat, wet and too hot and it pools in his belly, makes his head hazy, and control so difficult to grasp, like sand sifting through his fingertips. Is it better when he holds him down? Is it better now, when he can fuck himself into his mouth? He can't even tell, but with his hips unrestrained, he's falling, falling, falling so fast off the precipice. ]
I'm —
[ He reaches out with a hand, to pull one of his hands off from his abdomen, to tighten fingers into it, like he needs to hold onto something — him. Can he hold on? He feels like he's already starting to fall. ]
[He too, doesn't know which is better. To keep Silco where he wants him, or to let Silco do whatever he wants to him. Maybe both. He can't decide.]
[It's even harder when his cock is thrusting into his mouth so desperately. How beautiful. His jaw will be sore for sure, as he has no real chance to readjust as the man moves with reckless abandon. He would do something similar in his spot.]
[He can't say anything. He only groans around the mouthful, as if to encourage him. The hand is...a surprise, his eyes widening as those spider fingers tangle into his. To be his anchor, he assumes.]
[How ironic, to be the one to support him, and be the one to pull him into hell.]
[His own cock is pressing against the sheets, heavy, and desperate for his own friction. He ignores it- right now, its all about Silco.]
[ His fingers wind against his, as tight a grip as he can muster, he does need the anchor. Something to touch, to grip, to hold him as he falls off the cliff. His mouth wrapped around him feels like so much, like every stray thought or plan is plucked directly from his mind the moment it bursts to life. Like everything has narrowed to this moment right here, to the space between them, to just them, and the heat that feels like it's drawing everything out of him.
It doesn't take much more than another thrust, he's already teetering, Vergilius's hand really there to pull him down off the cliff's edge. He can feel it, that burst of heat and sensation that seems to burst just behind his eyes, like he can't see anything, and though he can close one eye, the other rolls back, for once fully unseeing, drawn by the drop of sensation that shoots straight down his spine. He lifts his hips, a wet gasp that devolves into a moan; shoulders pressed into the bed, he falls, crashes hard as he comes in his mouth.
Like he's afraid he's going to pull away, his leg wrapped around his shoulder locks, as if he's trying to hold him there, weakly fucking into his mouth while he shudders, falling apart before him. Because of him. ]
[He wants to drink it in. He will, both literally and metaphorically. He's never seen such a sight, and he burns it right in his eyes.]
[How beautiful. How wonderful. In the future, he will see the man, and the very image of these raised hips, this arching back, this moaning mouth, his eye rolled back in pleasure, all will float in his perception like a burned after image.]
[And by the Wings, its all for him.]
[He swallows. It burns at the back of his tongue, yet the man himself seems to burn hotter than anything here. He pulls off, lips stained and dribbling the remains, before he licks it off.]
[But its not over. He pulls himself up, cock swollen and heavy as he reaches down to grasp it. As Silco moves through the throes of pleasure, Vergilius strokes himself to the sight of it. His voice comes like a murmured prayer to an awful god as he keeps staring down at what he's left of the man.]
[ Coming down from the high, it takes longer than he would have anticipated, but he's still drifting slowly back down. His eye still rolled up into his head, his body still arched, his hair has already gone askew over his forehead, and he blinked, winding fingers in the sheets as he comes back to himself, but it's so slowly. His chest heaves, his leg slowly drifts down from his shoulders, and he finally turns his eyes toward him, watching him.
There he is, hovering over him, staring down at him. He's flushed, and messy, and all of that careful control has already slipped through his fingertips. He can't gather it back up, that control, it's like sand in between his fingertips, slipping away.
Mouth parted, he watches him with lewd attention, too-focused, like he's half-mesmerized by the sight of him coming apart over him. He has him on his tongue, and he's stroking himself, saying his name and — ]
Come on. [ He hissed, reaching up to run fingers against his temple, brushing bangs out of his face. He tries to push himself up on his other shaky elbow, leaning up to scrape teeth and tongue against his lips. It's lewd, tasting himself on him, but he does it anyway. ] Leave a mess.
[He's kissed, and it feels like both a lifeline and a deaty sentence. Silco takes him in, brushes his bangs back - the touch of his hands is something he finds himself constantly thirsting for, even more than the kisses.]
[His gaze, exposed. The order, given. He gives himself a few short pumps, his voice scratching against his vocal cords.]
Ah. Silco-
[And that name ends in a low moan as he finally hits his peak, body shaking as hot streams do, indeed, make a mess over the man's waiting body. He whines as he feels his breath heave, biting Silco's lips as he rocks against his own hand. It feels too glorious. It feels like he's in a sea of stars. He really shouldn't deserve this, yet-]
[He lets his head drift to the man's shoulder, resting onto it as his eyelids flutter from the aftershocks going up his spine.]
[ The pain on his lips is barely noticeable, he very nearly grins against him, hearing his name sound like it's being ripped from him, the way his voice grates and scrapes, his fingers brushing against his hair, nails scraping against skin.
He shudders underneath him, the mess being left cools on his skin as his lips curl in satisfaction at the sight of him tipping his head to rest against his shoulder, vulnerable like this. He likes it, watching him hold onto him like he's a lifeline. The way his whole body shudders, and that it was Silco who did it to him. ]
Hmm.
[ His fingers drift from his face, to his back, scraping nails along an untouched path, before he turned his head, to press the side of it to his. He could say any number of honest things, if he wanted. That he enjoyed hearing his name on his lips, or that he felt good with his lips wrapped around him, but instead, he only chuckled softly. ]
I didn't expect you to take commands like that.
[ It's teasing, at least, as he starts to reach out, and fish towards the sidetable for one of his cigars resting there. ]
[Comes the murmured reply against his bare shoulder. It seems like more of a kneejerk reflex of an answer than a true complaint. His breaths are still a little short as he starts to feel his body calm down.]
[Silco rests his bony face against his. He leans back, a little needy for the contact.]
Smoking, huh. [His eyes glance over at the movement - his hand, the one that's more or less clean, reaches up to brush through the other's unkempt hair.] I suppose that means you enjoyed it.
[ His fingers find both the lighter and the tamped-out cigar he normally kept by his bed, before he tugged it close, with half a mind to light the cherry and see what he did if he pressed it to him.
Maybe just because of the way his voice sounded, asking that question.
But maybe he wouldn't, since he brushed his fingers through his hair just like that. ] You think it says something about you, do you? With how often I smoke? [ He doesn't even move his head away from him, still content to press it against him, even while he clamped it between his teeth. The pop of his lighter is loud, punctuating the silence mostly only disturbed by their breaths, heavier once the room starts to smell like smoke. ]
[Maybe. Not really. Sometime with Silco he says things just to complain, to be contrary. As if being his little thorn will do much at all. For them, its a lover's game of knives and daggers. He finds himself enjoying it more than he should.]
[The smoke makes his nostrils curl from the acrid smell. A few more breaths, before he reaches up to pluck the cigar from his mouth. A kiss follows as if in payment, before he puts the cigar between his own lips, inhales with a rattling little noise.]
Hrm. [And now a puff of smoke from his lips. His voice is even more hoarse.] It tastes awful.
[ Sometimes, Silco doesn't answer his little statements, just stares at him, as if he's satisfied to let him draw his own conclusions about whether or not it's true. Maybe the fact that he doesn't say anything is statement enough, though. He doesn't mind the little thorns, barbs, or knives thrown his direction, after all. Sometimes, they hit true, sometimes, they miss. He wants to obfuscate those moments, as much as he wants to make him see things that aren't there.
Then again, he leaves as many in return, doesn't he? More, maybe, in his own ways.
He steals a kiss — it's enough to get the cigar from him. ]
These? They barely taste like anything.
[ He scoffed, before he took it back, drawing another long pull from it, letting it settle in his mouth. ] One of the cigars where I'm from might kill you, if this tastes bad.
[ He leans in anyway, to scrape teeth and tongue against his lips, filling his mouth with smoke, as if to tease him with it. ]
[The smoke fills the air, fills the space betwen them, makes them hazy. It's always been hazy, with Silco. Like fumbling in the fog, yet so sure they know each other's outline.]
[His kiss is stolen, mouth filled with smoke. It's a strange taste, complete with what he swallowed before. It is Silco, in all his essence. Vergilius kisses him back, fingers scraping lightly over his neck before he murmurs in between them. His chest feels heavy with want, desire, anger as always.]
[ He laughs against his lips, ejecting more smoke from his lungs when he does so. ]
I'd be disappointed if it actually got close. [ he reached out to tap at his chest, lean fingers like little spider's spindles, tapping the line along a scar. As if he's asking without words, if those lungs of his are different too. ]
Surviving despite what tries to kill us is everything, it is how we persevere. It is rare that people understand that.
[ He does, he thinks. Then again, places like Zaun and the City are similar enough, it is not surprising. What comes out of places like that only understands survival. ]
[Silco's previous bites over his chest sting a little as the man reaches to touch him - lingering little pieces of evidence of trying to mar this great scarred expanse. No, his lungs may not be especially special, but this body as a whole has been through many a surgery.]
[His muscle fibers are woven, more than biological. He is, in and of himself, a weapon draped in warm flesh and skin.]
It is rare that people here understand that. [He corrects, lightly - its merely the way of the City, no matter where you are. He rubs the man's ear between thumb and forefinger, placing a kiss against his jaw.] You make one mistake, you're over. [A beat.] That's that, this is this.
[ A living weapon, all for Silco to scrape thin fingers against, for him to mar and muck up as he so chooses. A weapon could stop him at any time, but Vergilius lets him do it, seeks him out like this, and Silco's fingers trail against the marks he made, as if he can hurt him more by pressing down on them. Maybe he can, but maybe he's used to the pain. They're both from such similar places, where pain is something one simply gets used to.
His good eye closed, a light shiver down his back. ]
Mm, most of the time, yes. [ He's right. Most people here don't understand it. Not like Zaunites did, or people from the City did. ] Even if we manage to slip free of the mistakes...
[ His fingers trail against his skin, scraping, scraping. He knows he has made them. Has Vergilius? The type that leave that stain that can never be washed out? That eye fixates on him, burning from a pitch surface. ] They leave their mark. Don't they?
[That's that, and this is this. It's the way things are. A man told him that, once. A man with a beautiful smile that later was hidden by a black mask, his voice darkened by bloodlust.]
[He doesn't answer for a moment - his gaze turns distant with the weight of memory. He told that man the phrase didn't suit him. He himself didn't want to believe nothing could be done - it was just his foolish dream that kept him going forward.]
[Vergilius rests his head against the other man again as his gaze moves away, his hand sliding down to slide around to his back to pull him close, almost an embrace. Comfort, perhaps.]
[ He scoops him close, Silco doesn't fight it — how damning — as if being closer will soothe the open festering wounds their worlds left on them. He reached around him, his arm curling around his back to puff at his cigar, but he reached around his shoulders all the same.
He thinks the statement is right, at least in part, but there is a part of him, as always, that rages against it. Wants to change it. Always, Silco tries, he makes it worse, because that is what he does, but he still persists. Unending. Inexorable.
Gripping so hard he breaks it in between his fingers, so that he can remake it as he wishes. ]
There is no escaping it, even here. [ Though it is better here, than where he was before — easier than the City or Zaun. He isn't strained to the end of his rope, he is not maddened and feral, gripping too tight onto the one tether he has to himself, watching himself spool outward into pieces as he flays himself bit by bit. He is different here, but he is also the same. The sum of the parts, his mistakes on his skin and worming through his brain. ]
Neither of us can. [ But is that not fine? They Understand this truth better than most. ] But at least that is something we are both used to.
[Silco's arm rests around him, his nose tickling at the smell of smoke. Silco, too, has a smell. Something a little acrid, with the heavy smoke of hard alcohol. It's become oddly soothing, despite its acidity that seems to want to eat into him.]
[His fingertips slide over ever prominent vertebrae, sighing into his skin. How did he get so thin? All bones and bare flesh, and he loves it. Wants to scoop him up and fill him up to the brim, in more ways than one.]
It's baked into us. But you and I...we recognize that. We have no room to judge.
[ Gooseflesh down his back, he tipped his head to blow a long plume of smoke into the air. His fingers trail down his spine, picking out the individual bones there, a long life of subsisting on cigars, liquor, and drug injections instead of anything remotely healthy.
His arm relaxed, his cigar found the ashtray, and he stamped it out, before he reached over to brush his sweaty bangs out of his face. He thinks too few people do that, but he'll keep doing it, as if he can memorize every little fleck of color or change in them. He likes seeing the way they shift, or alter. A twitch of his lips. ]
Maybe we don't... [ A soft scoff. ] But I've never been one to reserve my judgment. I don't think you do either.
[ A sharp scrape of nail on his bicep, almost teasing. He knows the man is as salty as he is. ]
[His eyes, exposed once more. He doesn't think he's ever had anyone look into his eyes as much as Silco does - no, he hunts for that gaze, finds ways to reveal them time and time again.]
[His eyes are vivid as ever, their hue like the hints of a crimson sunset - his mouth curls into a mild little smirk.]
Maybe there are some people who deserve a good whipping with a sharp tongue every now and then.
[His hand descends lower, lower, splaying on his tailbone as he pitches it slightly so that Silco slots even better against his pelvis, like a puzzle piece.]
[ There's something about it. Maybe it's the fact that it burns just like his does, or maybe it's because he hides it behind his bangs — a peek at the monster lurking beneath the fringe. It's like a challenge, that he cannot help but rise to meet it. ]
Some people, hm?
[ He lets him tug him close, lets him slot them together, like they fit. They shouldn't fit — but perhaps it was inevitable that they would. His leg brushed up against him, a thin thigh against his side, bumping up against it. ]
Well, next time morale starts to flag... perhaps it's best if I find you?
I said sometimes. Other times, I would eat morale for breakfast.
[.....It feels comfortable, like this. How very odd. Perhaps he really is that desperate. The warmth and carress of a lover would not be defined as this, but it feels like the ghost of it. Their bodies, intertwined.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[Only to sink his teeth into the man's groin, like a warning bite. He sucks on the skin, a blossoming red coming from his action before he returns to his previous position.]
As if I was going to stop. [And now, a lick alongside the side of his shaft, nibbling around its head.] Like trying to rob a bank of your own money. How very stupid. Unless you want me to stop? Out of spite?
[And he sucks on it once more, his hands releasing for a moment before sliding up to hold the man's pelvis taut.]
no subject
His head pressed to the bed, that burning pit of an eye rolled up to the back of his head. ]
No —
[ He hissed out, pain blossoms like an old welcome friend, and he twitches, twists, Vergilius keeps going, keeps talking and he swallowed back a frustrated groan as he took him back in. He fights against his hands, trying to thrust deeper into him and getting nowhere, but his legs, they're free enough that he squirms with them before he lifted one to hook one around his shoulders and neck, as if it could keep him there.
Saying clearly what Silco wasn't, that it was that good. ]
no subject
[He can feel the minute tension of the muscles as Silco tries vainly to push his hips upward. Perhaps its time to give him a reprieve. He lets go, his hands carressing over his slender abdomen as he slips off wetly. A lick of his lips, and he's going back, but with only the head entering past his lips.]
[He won't move down. He's giving a chance for Silco to fuck it upwards to enjoy himself. If just a little bit.]
no subject
But with the newfound freedom he does surge up, following his mouth, chasing heat and sensation and thrusting up and into him. He'd very nearly chased him up and away, but as soon as he's given freedom, he takes it. Irregular, uncontrolled thrusts up and into him, his heel pressed tight against his back to try and hold him down (ineffectively) and his hips pushing up.
It's all liquid heat, wet and too hot and it pools in his belly, makes his head hazy, and control so difficult to grasp, like sand sifting through his fingertips. Is it better when he holds him down? Is it better now, when he can fuck himself into his mouth? He can't even tell, but with his hips unrestrained, he's falling, falling, falling so fast off the precipice. ]
I'm —
[ He reaches out with a hand, to pull one of his hands off from his abdomen, to tighten fingers into it, like he needs to hold onto something — him. Can he hold on? He feels like he's already starting to fall. ]
no subject
[It's even harder when his cock is thrusting into his mouth so desperately. How beautiful. His jaw will be sore for sure, as he has no real chance to readjust as the man moves with reckless abandon. He would do something similar in his spot.]
[He can't say anything. He only groans around the mouthful, as if to encourage him. The hand is...a surprise, his eyes widening as those spider fingers tangle into his. To be his anchor, he assumes.]
[How ironic, to be the one to support him, and be the one to pull him into hell.]
[His own cock is pressing against the sheets, heavy, and desperate for his own friction. He ignores it- right now, its all about Silco.]
no subject
It doesn't take much more than another thrust, he's already teetering, Vergilius's hand really there to pull him down off the cliff's edge. He can feel it, that burst of heat and sensation that seems to burst just behind his eyes, like he can't see anything, and though he can close one eye, the other rolls back, for once fully unseeing, drawn by the drop of sensation that shoots straight down his spine. He lifts his hips, a wet gasp that devolves into a moan; shoulders pressed into the bed, he falls, crashes hard as he comes in his mouth.
Like he's afraid he's going to pull away, his leg wrapped around his shoulder locks, as if he's trying to hold him there, weakly fucking into his mouth while he shudders, falling apart before him. Because of him. ]
no subject
[How beautiful. How wonderful. In the future, he will see the man, and the very image of these raised hips, this arching back, this moaning mouth, his eye rolled back in pleasure, all will float in his perception like a burned after image.]
[And by the Wings, its all for him.]
[He swallows. It burns at the back of his tongue, yet the man himself seems to burn hotter than anything here. He pulls off, lips stained and dribbling the remains, before he licks it off.]
[But its not over. He pulls himself up, cock swollen and heavy as he reaches down to grasp it. As Silco moves through the throes of pleasure, Vergilius strokes himself to the sight of it. His voice comes like a murmured prayer to an awful god as he keeps staring down at what he's left of the man.]
Fuck. Silco. Fuck.
no subject
There he is, hovering over him, staring down at him. He's flushed, and messy, and all of that careful control has already slipped through his fingertips. He can't gather it back up, that control, it's like sand in between his fingertips, slipping away.
Mouth parted, he watches him with lewd attention, too-focused, like he's half-mesmerized by the sight of him coming apart over him. He has him on his tongue, and he's stroking himself, saying his name and — ]
Come on. [ He hissed, reaching up to run fingers against his temple, brushing bangs out of his face. He tries to push himself up on his other shaky elbow, leaning up to scrape teeth and tongue against his lips. It's lewd, tasting himself on him, but he does it anyway. ] Leave a mess.
[ On me hangs in the air between them. ]
no subject
[His gaze, exposed. The order, given. He gives himself a few short pumps, his voice scratching against his vocal cords.]
Ah. Silco-
[And that name ends in a low moan as he finally hits his peak, body shaking as hot streams do, indeed, make a mess over the man's waiting body. He whines as he feels his breath heave, biting Silco's lips as he rocks against his own hand. It feels too glorious. It feels like he's in a sea of stars. He really shouldn't deserve this, yet-]
[He lets his head drift to the man's shoulder, resting onto it as his eyelids flutter from the aftershocks going up his spine.]
no subject
He shudders underneath him, the mess being left cools on his skin as his lips curl in satisfaction at the sight of him tipping his head to rest against his shoulder, vulnerable like this. He likes it, watching him hold onto him like he's a lifeline. The way his whole body shudders, and that it was Silco who did it to him. ]
Hmm.
[ His fingers drift from his face, to his back, scraping nails along an untouched path, before he turned his head, to press the side of it to his. He could say any number of honest things, if he wanted. That he enjoyed hearing his name on his lips, or that he felt good with his lips wrapped around him, but instead, he only chuckled softly. ]
I didn't expect you to take commands like that.
[ It's teasing, at least, as he starts to reach out, and fish towards the sidetable for one of his cigars resting there. ]
no subject
[Comes the murmured reply against his bare shoulder. It seems like more of a kneejerk reflex of an answer than a true complaint. His breaths are still a little short as he starts to feel his body calm down.]
[Silco rests his bony face against his. He leans back, a little needy for the contact.]
Smoking, huh. [His eyes glance over at the movement - his hand, the one that's more or less clean, reaches up to brush through the other's unkempt hair.] I suppose that means you enjoyed it.
no subject
[ His fingers find both the lighter and the tamped-out cigar he normally kept by his bed, before he tugged it close, with half a mind to light the cherry and see what he did if he pressed it to him.
Maybe just because of the way his voice sounded, asking that question.
But maybe he wouldn't, since he brushed his fingers through his hair just like that. ] You think it says something about you, do you? With how often I smoke? [ He doesn't even move his head away from him, still content to press it against him, even while he clamped it between his teeth. The pop of his lighter is loud, punctuating the silence mostly only disturbed by their breaths, heavier once the room starts to smell like smoke. ]
no subject
[Maybe. Not really. Sometime with Silco he says things just to complain, to be contrary. As if being his little thorn will do much at all. For them, its a lover's game of knives and daggers. He finds himself enjoying it more than he should.]
[The smoke makes his nostrils curl from the acrid smell. A few more breaths, before he reaches up to pluck the cigar from his mouth. A kiss follows as if in payment, before he puts the cigar between his own lips, inhales with a rattling little noise.]
Hrm. [And now a puff of smoke from his lips. His voice is even more hoarse.] It tastes awful.
no subject
Then again, he leaves as many in return, doesn't he? More, maybe, in his own ways.
He steals a kiss — it's enough to get the cigar from him. ]
These? They barely taste like anything.
[ He scoffed, before he took it back, drawing another long pull from it, letting it settle in his mouth. ] One of the cigars where I'm from might kill you, if this tastes bad.
[ He leans in anyway, to scrape teeth and tongue against his lips, filling his mouth with smoke, as if to tease him with it. ]
no subject
[His kiss is stolen, mouth filled with smoke. It's a strange taste, complete with what he swallowed before. It is Silco, in all his essence. Vergilius kisses him back, fingers scraping lightly over his neck before he murmurs in between them. His chest feels heavy with want, desire, anger as always.]
...What only kills me makes me stronger, yes?
no subject
[ He laughs against his lips, ejecting more smoke from his lungs when he does so. ]
I'd be disappointed if it actually got close. [ he reached out to tap at his chest, lean fingers like little spider's spindles, tapping the line along a scar. As if he's asking without words, if those lungs of his are different too. ]
Surviving despite what tries to kill us is everything, it is how we persevere. It is rare that people understand that.
[ He does, he thinks. Then again, places like Zaun and the City are similar enough, it is not surprising. What comes out of places like that only understands survival. ]
no subject
[His muscle fibers are woven, more than biological. He is, in and of himself, a weapon draped in warm flesh and skin.]
It is rare that people here understand that. [He corrects, lightly - its merely the way of the City, no matter where you are. He rubs the man's ear between thumb and forefinger, placing a kiss against his jaw.] You make one mistake, you're over. [A beat.] That's that, this is this.
no subject
His good eye closed, a light shiver down his back. ]
Mm, most of the time, yes. [ He's right. Most people here don't understand it. Not like Zaunites did, or people from the City did. ] Even if we manage to slip free of the mistakes...
[ His fingers trail against his skin, scraping, scraping. He knows he has made them. Has Vergilius? The type that leave that stain that can never be washed out? That eye fixates on him, burning from a pitch surface. ] They leave their mark. Don't they?
no subject
[He doesn't answer for a moment - his gaze turns distant with the weight of memory. He told that man the phrase didn't suit him. He himself didn't want to believe nothing could be done - it was just his foolish dream that kept him going forward.]
[Vergilius rests his head against the other man again as his gaze moves away, his hand sliding down to slide around to his back to pull him close, almost an embrace. Comfort, perhaps.]
They do. Alas. They do.
no subject
[ He scoops him close, Silco doesn't fight it — how damning — as if being closer will soothe the open festering wounds their worlds left on them. He reached around him, his arm curling around his back to puff at his cigar, but he reached around his shoulders all the same.
He thinks the statement is right, at least in part, but there is a part of him, as always, that rages against it. Wants to change it. Always, Silco tries, he makes it worse, because that is what he does, but he still persists. Unending. Inexorable.
Gripping so hard he breaks it in between his fingers, so that he can remake it as he wishes. ]
There is no escaping it, even here. [ Though it is better here, than where he was before — easier than the City or Zaun. He isn't strained to the end of his rope, he is not maddened and feral, gripping too tight onto the one tether he has to himself, watching himself spool outward into pieces as he flays himself bit by bit. He is different here, but he is also the same. The sum of the parts, his mistakes on his skin and worming through his brain. ]
Neither of us can. [ But is that not fine? They Understand this truth better than most. ] But at least that is something we are both used to.
no subject
[Silco's arm rests around him, his nose tickling at the smell of smoke. Silco, too, has a smell. Something a little acrid, with the heavy smoke of hard alcohol. It's become oddly soothing, despite its acidity that seems to want to eat into him.]
[His fingertips slide over ever prominent vertebrae, sighing into his skin. How did he get so thin? All bones and bare flesh, and he loves it. Wants to scoop him up and fill him up to the brim, in more ways than one.]
It's baked into us. But you and I...we recognize that. We have no room to judge.
no subject
[ Gooseflesh down his back, he tipped his head to blow a long plume of smoke into the air. His fingers trail down his spine, picking out the individual bones there, a long life of subsisting on cigars, liquor, and drug injections instead of anything remotely healthy.
His arm relaxed, his cigar found the ashtray, and he stamped it out, before he reached over to brush his sweaty bangs out of his face. He thinks too few people do that, but he'll keep doing it, as if he can memorize every little fleck of color or change in them. He likes seeing the way they shift, or alter. A twitch of his lips. ]
Maybe we don't... [ A soft scoff. ] But I've never been one to reserve my judgment. I don't think you do either.
[ A sharp scrape of nail on his bicep, almost teasing. He knows the man is as salty as he is. ]
no subject
[His eyes are vivid as ever, their hue like the hints of a crimson sunset - his mouth curls into a mild little smirk.]
Maybe there are some people who deserve a good whipping with a sharp tongue every now and then.
[His hand descends lower, lower, splaying on his tailbone as he pitches it slightly so that Silco slots even better against his pelvis, like a puzzle piece.]
It's good for morale. Sometimes.
no subject
Some people, hm?
[ He lets him tug him close, lets him slot them together, like they fit. They shouldn't fit — but perhaps it was inevitable that they would. His leg brushed up against him, a thin thigh against his side, bumping up against it. ]
Well, next time morale starts to flag... perhaps it's best if I find you?
no subject
[.....It feels comfortable, like this. How very odd. Perhaps he really is that desperate. The warmth and carress of a lover would not be defined as this, but it feels like the ghost of it. Their bodies, intertwined.]
[He presses his lips against the man's forehead.]
I could eat people up and leave no crumbs.
i close my eyes
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)